Tag: #aesoprock

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Prime Time — Polling the Pantheon and Seeing About Shane

I got asked one of my favorite music-related questions this week at work, one we’ve debated many times over beers at the bar (back when that was a thing) — if you could see one band (or artist) back in their prime, who would it be? When we’ve discussed this in years past, folks will name some obvious ones (Elvis, the Beatles) and some slightly less obvious (Marvin Gaye, Bob Marley, Sly and the Family Stone). The answer I gave this week is the one I usually give, I’ve got to break it down by decade to even begin to answer — for the 60s I went with the Beatles, the Doors, and CCR, for the 70s I did Zeppelin, for the 80s I did the Smiths and the Clash.

I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting, but those are the ones that jump to mind as bands I’d love to have seen, ones I still listen to incessantly all these years later (and have for decades now). That got me thinking about what makes those bands so special and why do they immediately spring to mind, even though they were all gone by the time I started really getting into music? And how/why do l consider them my own even though they were coming from (and speaking to) a generation or two before me?

The best I can come up with is the magical, universal quality of music — you don’t have to understand the words of a song to connect with the melody or know what the singer’s saying to sing along.  The lyrics can be in different languages or made-up gibberish and you can love them just the same. The best music transcends all of that and lets you in anyway, tapping into something deeper, something that spans generation and geography.  The best music transports you somewhere else — to another time, to another country, or maybe deeper within yourself to probe your thoughts and emotions.

Each of those bands does that in some way — the Beatles back to my childhood, CCR to the swamp — but more modern bands can have the same effect. The Pogues are textbook ambassadors for the middle category, immediately whisking you away to the Emerald Isle — whether the countryside or a boisterous, sweaty pub depends on the song — but when you listen to the band you are no longer in your room, car, or crazed house of murder in Baltimore, you are somewhere in Ireland. For that reason I’ve always tended to listen to them around that most Irish of times, St Patty’s Day, when I need that mental airlift to the bright green hills of stashed gold and Guinness over yonder.

In the crowded pantheon of great Irish bands/singers, these guys have always held a special place in my heart — bands like The Dubliners and the Irish Rovers are great for the older, more traditional fare, Van Morrison, U2, and the Cranberries are rightful giants but don’t evoke that Irish sense with their sound, and folks like Flogging Molly are excellent extensions of what the Pogues used to do. If I had to pick just one, though, I’m picking the Pogues.

There’s just something about this band that’s irresistible — the energy, the unabashed Irishness, the gleeful abandon and sense of humor right next to the cry-in-your-empty-pint emotion after a night kicking them back at the bar. They’re the  quintessential Irish band, which is why they’re always the first thing I put once March comes a-calling.

Some (maybe all?) of it centers on frontman Shane MacGowan, whose lyrics and delivery are incomparable, grabbing your attention and holding it raptly until he’s good and well finished. There’s still no one that sounds like him all these years later. (Gogol frontman Eugene Hutz might be the closest that comes to mind, capturing the gleeful punk hutzpah and charm, but Gogol’s songs lack the poetry and heart that are essential elements of MacGowan’s work — which is not a knock on Gogol, who I love, but more a credit to what the Pogues and MacGowan accomplished with their music.) It just sounds sincere and not a contrived (or indifferent) fiction like so many other bands.

MacGowan always sounded like he was half in the bag while singing these songs — you can clearly picture him in that hot, crowded pub, standing on the bar and belting out these tunes while the rest of us sing along, hugging the shoulders of our neighbors with our pints hoisted in the air. Unfortunately, it seems he actually was — whether recording, performing, or most times in between, according to the documentary Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan.

The film does a nice job telling the history of both MacGowan’s life and the band itself, going from a kid on a farm with no amenities to the rock and roll life of indulgence he ultimately enjoyed once the Pogues became stars.  It’s an interesting story — IRA relatives, the quest to “save” Irish music, and the one-of-a-kind MacGowan himself, part charmer, part joker — but it’s also a heartbreaking one. The toll of the aforementioned excess — the drink, to an extent, but primarily the drugs (namely heroin) that came later — has had a devastating impact as you see in the documentary.

It’s a gut-wrenching watch at times — I found myself getting mad at the filmmakers in those moments for showing MacGowan in such unflattering states: nodding off mid-conversation after reaching for his beer or wine, sitting there hunched over with crud on his cheek (whether saliva or snot). You wanted to shout at them “hey cmon, take it easy on the guy!” but then you realize the outrage and empathy are part of the point, as is the cautionary lesson that’s causing those emotions.

MacGowan (and the band) may be textbook examples of Ireland and its music, but he’s also one of the most searing reminders of the dangers of overindulgence and the terrible toll it can take. I’d always known he had struggled with drugs and that ultimately led to the breakup of the band (he carried on making similar music with the Popes for a few years after that, but largely disappeared by the late 90s), but never knew how devastating an impact they had had. It’s honestly tough to listen to the music the same way afterwards, knowing what happens as a result, which is unfortunate — they’re a great band and MacGowan wrote some fantastic songs over the course of his career.

One of my perennial faves is this one from their great second album, Rum Sodomy & the Lash. You could almost pick at random and find a winner — “The Old Main Drag,” “A Pair of Brown Eyes,” “Sally MacLennane,” “Navigator,” “A Rainy Night in Soho,” but my favorite has always been this one, “Dirty Old Town.” You need look no further than the song’s opening stanza to see what I was saying about MacGowan’s transportive powers — “I met my love by the gasworks walls, dreamed a dream by the old canal, I kissed my girl by the factory walls, dirty old town, dirty old town…”Those images jump to mind clear as day and the song’s just getting started — great stuff. Give it a listen (and the rest of the band’s stuff once you’re done!):

 

We’ll close with a couple quick hits caught in passing — first the latest single from British band Jungle, the winning disco track “Keep Moving.” No word on a new album yet, but hopefully this is a sign of more to come:

Next is my current fave off the new DFA album, Is 4 Lovers. The album itself is a bit disappointing so far (it starts out OK enough but then definitely loses me by the end), but this one’s a vintage winner.  Love the riff — check out “Free Animal” here:


We’ll close with the latest from Aesop Rock, who decided to write a song about a long-legged frog named Larry (which he released on National Frog Day, to boot).  Logically it may seem out of left field, but it’s a pretty fun little song (and an instant theme song for anyone bearing the titular name). Sing along with the crowd — “Go Larry! Go Larry! Go! Go! Go Larry!”

Until next time — stay safe, sane, and separate…

-BS

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Gifts from the Green Zone: Songs from the Hit (or Miss) Parade

The year’s sure off to a heck of a start, eh? COVID’s safely in our rear-view mirror and the news has gone back to being as exciting as Mayberry on a Sunday morning. What’s that? We just logged our 13th consecutive time adding 1M COVID cases in less than a week? And in that same amount of time we saw three things that hadn’t happened in at least 200 years, if ever — the storming of the capital, a second impeachment, and a fortification of DC that includes more troops than there are residents in the area they’re protecting? (And four times as many as are currently in Iraq and Afghanistan?) Well I’m sure glad we left all the aggravations and anxiety back in 2020!

As they rapidly turn my neighborhood into a medieval walled city, thought I’d hustle in with some songs before the fences go up across my living room, too. The last few months of last year had some releases from artists I’ve enjoyed and/or written about in the past, but whose consistency has wavered lately, preventing me from fully endorsing them. There still are some solid tracks on them, though, so in the spirit of the lockdown and the need to celebrate bright spots each and every time they show their scaredy-cat faces, here’s some highlights from them.

First is the latest from country behemoth Chris Stapleton who might seem a strange inclusion here as my indifference if not disdain for modern country is well-known (at least to the eight of you reading this). And while there’s definitely a few too many chest-thumping, good ole boy “MURRICA!” moments in here, there’s a handful of really good songs, too, to keep you torn. Does Stapleton, like most modern country singers, have a formula? For sure. (I joked at work the recording sessions had to have closed with a conversation along the lines of, “Lemme see — do I have a song about brown water? Check! What about the devil? CHECK! Anything about being country or a redneck? Check! A city or state? DOUBLE CHECK! OMG guys, this album is gonna be huge!”)

When he strays a little from this and leaves the faux aggression aside, though, is when it’s most interesting. The slower songs work well (“You Should Probably Leave,” “Nashville, TN”), there’s a cover of a lesser-known John Fogerty track that’s solid (“Joy of my Life”), and former Heartbreakers Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench show up on most of the album’s songs, adding their characteristic flourishes to the material. (Campbell even co-wrote a pair of tracks, “Watch You Burn” and the ripping should be state anthem “Arkansas.”) There’s even a song about his dog that makes me tear up damn near every time. These end up being enough to balance out the other eye rollers — none moreso than the title track, which is so good even Obama endorsed it. See what Presidentially-sponsored singing sounds like here:


We’ll jump genres and head over to the electrosphere next, a place I used to spend a lot more time before old age, early nights, and a general decline in the music’s quality and creativity drove me away. (Honestly — if I hear one more Skrillex-inspired soundtrack of machines intermittently screaming over the same beat, I might lose it.) Before the fall, MSTRKRFT were one of my frequent listens, as half of the duo belonged to beloved Death From Above 1979 (plus they made some banging tracks in their own right, too.)

They started going in a more aimless, house-driven direction in recent years in lieu of the thunderous hooks of their earlier albums and their last one, 2016’s Operator, only had a couple tracks that caught my ear. (“Priceless,” “Party Line”) Their latest EP, Black Gloves, is more of the same, but this track is a throwback winner.  Driving beat, infectious lyric, all but guaranteed to make you move — check out “Alexyss” and crank it up:


We’ll jump genres one more time and head over to the third perpetually disappointing modern genre, rap. All three of the genres represented thus far are years past their golden age (country’s I’d argue was the late 60s/early 70s, electro the late 90s/early 00s, and rap ruled the late 80s and most of the 90s), but none might be more disappointing to me than rap. What used to sport some of the most relentlessly creative artists and lyricists has now devolved into a monolithic mush of materialistic lyrics and weak beats. As always, there are exceptions, but they’re further and further from the rule these days and even they increasingly fall victim to the rampant shoddiness.

Case in point is Aesop Rock whose efforts with Rob Sonic as Hail Mary Mallon have yielded two excellent albums to date. (2011’s Are You Gonna Eat That? and 2014’s Bestiary.) Unfortunately his solo outings have always been plagued by inconsistencies and his latest is no different. (To be fair, Rob’s last album was a bit disappointing, too — the virus is everywhere!) A sprawling, double digit outing, there are a handful of winners across its 21 tracks — “The Gates,” “Button Masher,” and “Holy Waterfall” all sizzle, but the album’s closer is the absolute winner.  Big beat, solid hook, and breathless verses rattled off effortlessly  in Aes’ singular baritone — check out “The Four Winds” here:

We’ll leave the world of intermittent letdowns and dive into the world of the unknown (without expectation there can be no disappointment!) with a few new discoveries that caught my ear.  Each comes from the rap world, though from slightly different sectors.  First up is a track from LA-based clipping., which hails from the subsection apparently known as horrorcore — basically songs about death, dying, blood, murder, etc etc etc with abrasive, dissonant beats.  You know, the usual stuff you turn to after a hard day at the office and putting the kids to bed.

Both the genre as a whole and their albums tend to blur together after a bit, but some of the beats and verses are solid in small doses.  Vocalist Daveed Diggs (who apparently used to be on Broadway in Hamilton!) has a rapid fire cadence that calls to mind Andre of Outkast fame at times and the production from co-conspirators Jonathan Snipes and William Hutson have similar bite. Interesting but not enrapturing, they’re still worth a listen — check out “Say the Name” here:


Next comes another from the LA scene, this time from soloist Busdriver, who’s worked with everyone from Danger Mouse and Danny Brown to Deerhoof and the aforementioned Aesop Rock. He’s got a similarly manic, machine gun delivery to Diggs — almost Twista-esque at times — but he slows it down on this one when pairing with Anderson.Paak (another member of the hit or miss parade). All laid back groove and sunshine haze, this one’s an easy winner — check out “Worlds to Run” from 2015’s Thumbs:


We’ll close with a pair of songs from the other side of the pond, twin tracks from the UK on the more soulful side of the spectrum.  First up is a song from the Nottingham duo Young T & Bugsey who apparently hit it big over there last year with the song “Strike a Pose” (a forgettable track other than for the line “Drinking on a Duck Duck Goose y’know,” which got me to look up WTF that was).  This one’s a little more meaty — solid beat and decent verses, give “Don’t Rush” a ride here:


Last up comes a song from London’s Bakar whose song keeps showing up in these NFL Shop commercials during football games.  I’d heard it a few months ago courtesy of Co-worker Andrew and promptly forgotten about it thanks to my oatmeal lockdown brain. The onslaught of NFL commercials (approximately 374 for every game, minimum) got it firmly lodged back in the bowl, though, and I’m glad it did. It’s a bright, easy ride and Bakar has a smooth laid-back delivery that works well.  Score one for modern advertising — check out “Hell n Back” here:


Until next time, amici — stay safe, stay separate, and stay sane…

–BS

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Songs for the Dead — The Drawing of Three

On this week’s edition of Home School Hibernation we find our fabled author doing much the same as before — passing the days logging hard-earned miles on the hunkered down highway with his snoring, farting sidekick asleep on his lap, taking the occasional break to work from his now award-winning toaster oven standing desk instead of the porch or couch, while streaming one of the many daily concerts put out there by similarly shutdown artists.  There’s been solid one-off mini-sets from Hamilton Leithauser and Waxahatchee this week, along with more recurring highlights like the nightly Tweedy Show (which is basically just the Wilco frontman hanging out in his living room while he and his sons crack jokes and sing songs — a space that’s every bit as calm and enjoyable to lounge in as that sounds) or the weekly Thursday night stream from Waxahatchee and Kevin Morby (which finds the couple doing duets, solo tunes, and a bunch of covers).  It’s been a welcome reprieve from what’s otherwise been a really bad news week — aside from the usual corona-related news, which saw us somehow DOUBLE the global death toll in THREE DAYS (?!?!?) while also adding 600,000 confirmed cases in the same time span (stats that are as alarming as how little fanfare they generated in the news), we also lost three music legends — Kenny Rogers, Bill Withers, and John Prine.

Each of these men had a slew of iconic songs — songs almost everyone knows, whether you love them or not — Rogers had “Lady,” “We Got Tonight,” “Islands in the Stream,” and the titanic “The Gambler,” among others.  Withers had “Just the Two of Us,” “Ain’t No Sunshine,” “Lovely Day,” and “Lean on Me,” just to get started. Prine is the lesser known of the three — at least to the general public — but he’s got both a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Grammys and membership in the Songwriters Hall of Fame for tunes like “Illegal Smile,” “Far From Me,” “Spanish Pipedream,” and “Sam Stone.” Perhaps that underdog, everyman status is why so many artists recorded tributes for Prine this week, instead of for Rogers and Withers — he belonged to them, whereas the latter two belonged to everyone.

Rolling Stone had a really good obituary/retrospective on him that’s worth a read — he used to be a mailman in the town my old man was born in, which is wild — but pop on these tributes while you do.  There were three that were quite good, two coming from our aforementioned recurring delights.  The first of those is Kevin Morby singing Prine’s classic “Angel From Montgomery” on last week’s stream (they reprised it as a duet this week after he passed), while the second is Tweedy singing “Please Don’t Bury Me” on his nightly show.  The third is probably the most poignant — Dave Matthews singing “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness” on Colbert, which he gives a mournful, melancholic tone missing from the original.  It’s quite lovely and all three give folks a reason to pay more attention to Prine — his solid storytelling and straightforward, sometimes funny lyrics almost glide by unnoticed with his simple, nonchalant delivery.  May he, Rogers, and Withers all rest in peace.

Three other isolation-related items before leaving our living rooms — first, another highlight from last week’s Thursday night stream was Waxahatchee covering Emmylou Harris’ “Where Will I Be.”  Crutchfield is an Alabama native and she tends to like doing country covers in her shows/streams, so this one’s right in her wheelhouse.  She does it justice, with just a beautiful rendition of the song — give it a listen here (and tune in to them Thursdays — it’s pretty endearing to see such talented individuals interacting just as a couple hanging out, bantering while singing a bunch of great songs, so check em here at 9PM EST):

Next comes a somewhat surprising acoustic offering from PUP frontman Stefan Babcock and the new song “Waiting for Something to Happen.” He and his band of Canadian punks aren’t known for quieter fare (his amped up wail is one of their signatures), so this is an interesting departure.  It’s even got a French horn, for chrissakes?!  It’s a good tune, though — will be curious to see if he shows more of this side in the coming months.  Give it a listen here:

Lastly we’ll close with another plug for the monster quarantunes playlist I wrote about a couple posts ago. Since that time I’ve added another 40 hours’ worth of songs, going waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay further down the rabbit hole than I initially expected, but once you get started it’s kind of a fun little game. (Besides, what the hell else do I have to do with my time?) It’s now over 100 hours and counting, so PLENTY of stuff in there for you to listen to.  I’ve had it on all week while I work and only occasionally get a repeat, so think you should be fine for a good long while.  It’s pretty fun, if I do say so myself — give it a shot if you haven’t already here.

We’ll delve out into the big, bad world now for a few new songs, carefully trying to avoid The Invisible Enemy… (cue scary music and reverb, but DON’T necessarily put on a mask when you go — I mean you can if you want to, but I’m not going to. Sincerely, POTUS.) First comes a song from Kills frontwoman Alison Mosshart who for the first time is having a go as a solo artist.  It’s a slow burning song about recovering from a breakup — not too different sonically from her work with the Kills and Dead Weather — but works just as nicely as a little pandemic anthem. Listen to “Rise” here:

Next comes a little musical version of a home and home series (aw, remember when we had sports? Sniff…) between unexpected opponents — in this case indie band Rogue Wave and underground rap fave Aesop Rock.  A few months ago the latter put out a song with the name of the former — it wasn’t about the band, just a coincidental use of the phrase — but it caught the band’s attention and they decided to respond in kind, releasing a song in Aesop’s name this week.  It similarly is not about the rapper (best I can tell it’s sorta about the fables?), but it’s got a nice little guitar riff and melody.  Give “Aesop Rock” a ride here:

For his part Aesop was busy this week, too, releasing a soundtrack for a video game he did for a friend.  It’s mostly instrumentals, but a couple songs have him dropping verses, the best of which is this one, “Drums on the Wheel.”  Also not sure what this one’s about (something about a pilot in space talking to Major Cigar?), but who the hell cares — it’s a video game. It’s got a good beat and Aesop’s signature flow, that’s all I need.  See what you think here:

We’ll close with a little warmth, from the voice of Nathaniel and the heart of the Hunts, two frequent visitors to the list. For the former Rateliff released a pair of outtakes from his bigger band, the Night Sweats, this week, an instrumental along with this one, whose title earned it immediate entry to the aforementioned playlist.  It’s a statelier affair than the band’s more high energy offerings, which is nice in this climate — I can’t afford to get too excited, that might invite The Invisible Enemy in (no one’s quite sure how he attacks…) — so pour yourself a tall glass of somethin’ tasty and enjoy this one:

Last comes the latest from the brothers and sisters in the Hunts, back with yet another unabashedly earnest song about love. These kids write such pretty, heartfelt songs with such knee-buckling harmonies, it’s really quite remarkable.  They feel like such anomalies — both in the pre-pandemic music scene and the wider world — because of their lyrics, their optimism, and their pure prettiness.  I’m constantly amazed they haven’t had that beaten out of them yet, but every song like this reminds me I’m very thankful they haven’t.  Just close your eyes, pop this on, and picture what life would be like if it was this blissful and serene:

Stay safe out there… –BS